


burning brighter than the sun

by cresswell



Series: soulmates [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, But mostly fluff, Camp Half-Blood, Demigods, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Goodbye Sex, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:38:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1738229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresswell/pseuds/cresswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They spar early in the morning when no one else is up. Clarke leaves Athena's cabin with wet hair from her shower, trekking over to Bellamy's giant cabin, far too big for just him and his sister. She hovers at the screen door, her gaze drawn to the inscriptions above the porch until Bellamy steps out and scowls at her. "You could always just come in, you know," he says as he shrugs on his jacket, craning his neck to check one last time that Octavia's still asleep. "Instead of lurking out here like a stalker."</p>
            </blockquote>





	burning brighter than the sun

Bellamy became friends with Clarke Griffin the day he arrived at Camp Half-Blood.

She had been smaller then, like a fairy, her hair too curly and big for her body. She'd had dimples, bony elbows; she had been the first to approach him after he'd been claimed, the lightning bolt above his head sizzling out in a way that left everyone staring at him and his sister. Octavia had been clinging to his side, face creased with anxiety, and she had shied away when Clarke approached.

She had bent over a little to be at Octavia's level, holding her hand out and smiling. "Hi." Her voice had been sweet and gentle, like she was talking to a spooked horse, and maybe that was what had made Octavia take her hand. "My name's Clarke."

"Octavia," Bellamy's sister had replied shyly, and he nearly gaped. Octavia didn't talk to anyone, ever, even if they were friends with her brother.

"It's nice to meet you," Clarke had said, shaking her hand before twisting to face Bellamy. Already he had towered over her, awkward and gangly in that thirteen-year-old boy way. "And you are?"

"Bellamy," he'd said, hardly looking at her face. Even so, he had been able to see in his peripheral vision the way her face dimpled, her expression softening at the sound of his voice. His heart had plunged right to his feet, and that had been when he'd known this girl would be trouble.

* * *

They spar early in the morning when no one else is up. Clarke leaves Athena's cabin with wet hair from her shower, trekking over to Bellamy's giant cabin, far too big for just him and his sister. She'd hover at the screen door, her gaze drawn to the inscriptions above the porch until Bellamy would step out and scowl at her. "You could always just come in, you know," he says as he shrugs on his jacket, craning his neck to check one last time that Octavia's still asleep. "Instead of lurking out here like a stalker."

"Don't flatter yourself, Blake," she says back, her wit sharp and her grin wide. "I wouldn't stalk you if you were the last man on earth."

He claps a hand to his chest, staggering, before falling to his knees in the damp grass. "You wound me, Princess."

"Shut up," she squeals, throwing gentle punches into his shoulder until he locks his arms around her legs and brings her toppling down on top of him. "I hate you," she singsongs into his ear, but her out of breath laughter betrays her. She's thirteen now, two years younger than him, and her ribs are still protruding from her skin slightly, her skin not quite filled in yet. The skin on her face is smooth and her lips are cotton-candy pink, turning deliciously red whenever she eats candy or popsicles, and Bellamy gently moves himself out from underneath her. "Quiet, or you'll wake the whole camp and Jaha will be on your ass."

"You started it," she scowls, a perfect imitation of him, and he laughs, tugging her along towards the arena. It had been his idea to train together; she's just so small and while Bellamy doesn't underestimate her strength or her willpower, he knows she'll have to work extra hard to keep up with everyone else.

She leaves her hair down when she fights. It drives him _insane_.

She makes the first move- she always does- and clips his jaw with her fist. He shifts out of the way, sending a punch towards her side. She lets out a breath ("oof") and stumbles, doubling over slightly, and Bellamy seizes the opportunity. He swipes her feet out from under her with his own, dodging her flailing arms. She hits the ground with a small noise of pain, a dust cloud rising up around her, and he drops lightly on top of her, his hand hovering over her throat.

His grin is crooked. "Do you hate me?"

"I'd hate you more if you let me win," she quips back, breathing hard through her mouth. She accepts his hand and he pulls her back onto her feet, brushing the dust off her back. His hand catches slightly on her bra clasp through her shirt and he steps back, his face feeling hot.

"Well?" Clarke says, and when Bellamy turns, he sees she's got her arms crossed. For a horrifying moment he thinks she's waiting for an apology for accidentally touching her bra, but then she says, "Are you going to stand there all day or am I going to get a rematch?" and he can breathe again.

This time, she wins fair and square. Her stance is that of a warrior's: bent knees, bent elbows, bared teeth. Instead of punching him, she lunges, wrapping her arms around his middle. For a crazy, confusing moment, he thinks she's hugging him, but then he sees the sky tipping away and his head is thumping against the ground. " _Ow_. Shit, Clarke."

She's tackled him, pinning him to the ground with a surprising amount of strength, her hands firmly on his chest. She's smiling. "Weak."

"I was distracted by my mission to win your affections, Princess," he says, and it sends her into a mad fit of giggles, doubling over so her hair falls like a curtain around both their faces.

* * *

Clarke, unlike Bellamy and Octavia, returns home during the school year. She attends a private school, she'd told him once with a roll of her eyes. She'd always bring summer reading assignments and large packets of math problems back to Camp, preparing herself for the school year.

She returns to Camp by taxi when she's fifteen, all long legs beneath her plaid skirt, her hair smoothed into a messy braid. Octavia darts forward and throws her arms around the smaller girl, buzzing to her like she's been away for nine years, not nine months.

Bellamy can't stop _looking_. She looks so different but the same, and every time he looks at her it feels like he's having deja vu. She's taller now, though he still towers over her, and there's _more_ of her- she's not large; just soft curves where there had previously been little-kid edges.

She launches herself onto his back when she and Octavia reach the top of the hill where Bellamy waits, swinging her legs around his hips. He catches her knees, caught off-guard, her skin so smooth as her skirt rucks up to sinful heights. Her arms are looped lazily around his neck, her fingers drumming nonsense on his sternum, and he can feel her grin against his ear. "Miss me?"

"Not a chance," he says, smiling, and she laughs and grazes her fingers along the collar of his shirt.

 

Clarke makes _friends_ , then, and Bellamy's not upset about it or anything; it's just that she's rewarding people for just now noticing her when he's noticed her all along. She still fights with him in the mornings, though she's weird about it now: she'll shy away when he's touching her, eyes wide and cheeks red, and she always makes up some excuse to leave early.

"You're a _boy_ , Bell," Octavia says matter-of-factly, eating ice cream on the counter in their cabin's kitchen. "This is a delicate age for girls. Some mornings we wake up wanting to punch you. Other mornings we wake up wanting to make out with you."

"Octavia!"

"Well, it's true!" She says, scowling at him from behind her spoon. "And it's even weirder for Clarke, because you guys were friends before she hit that stage, and so now she's conflicted because she doesn't want to mess that up by kissing you."

Bellamy eyes her, scooping himself his own bowl. "You sure know a lot about this."

"Mhm," Octavia agrees, a satisfied smile on her face. "Boys like me."

"Anyone I need to beat some sense into?"

His sister groans and rolls her eyes, and Bellamy tries and fails to hide his smile. "No, Bell. I'm allowed to know boys, aren't I?" She licks her spoon one final time, hopping off the counter to put her dishes in the sink. "I'm going to go practice, okay?" Bellamy nods, glancing up expectantly when she pauses in the doorway. "Clarke's coming. If, you know, you wanted to give us some pointers."

With that, she flounces off, leaving Bellamy standing alone, feeling overwhelmed.

 

He does go, of course, but strategically waits half an hour before heading towards the arena. He doesn't want to look clingy or creepy, after all, even though he and Clarke are best friends.

When Octavia had said "practice", he'd assumed she'd meant sparring, but when he arrives at the arena, targets are set up. There's a handful of familiar faces- Finn from Apollo's cabin, Raven from Hephaestus's cabin, Jasper and Monty from Hermes's cabin- and the person setting up a shot has a shock of blonde hair.

 _Clarke_. Her posture is straight and still, her lips pressed into a thin line as she steadies her hands on the bow. Her pulse jumps in her neck when she releases the arrow and Bellamy watches in awe as it sails forward, hitting the target mere inches from the bullseye. 

"You're good, Griffin," Raven says appreciatively, and Clarke glows under the praise. "Artemis needs shots like you."

Bellamy watches his best friend tilt her head, confused. "Artemis?"

"Yeah. She has her huntresses, you know." Raven gives her a crooked grin, scuffing her shoes on the ground. "She's supposed to be stopping by in a few weeks. I'll be talking to her about joining up. You should, too."

"I've heard about them," Finn interjects, glancing between Raven and Clarke. "They're young, aren't they?"

"Doesn't it sound wonderful?" Raven asks wistfully, turning back to Clarke. "A place where we would be valued and respected. No annoying boys around."

Octavia smirks, her eyes flickering to Bellamy as he finally approaches the group. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I only know one annoying boy." She inclines her head at her brother and Clarke turns, smiling, her cheeks a soft shade of pink.

"I like Bellamy," Clarke says, and even though Bellamy knows she doesn't mean it like that, his heart plays hopscotch in his chest. "He's good for piggyback rides."

Bellamy laughs at this, like it's old times before Clarke got weird and blushy and soft, and he swings her over his shoulder like she's a sack of potatoes. She shrieks, pounding her fists against his back, but she's laughing all the same when he spins them both around, making the ceiling swirl.

"Bellamy!" She squeals, her hands clutching at his shirt, her voice hoarse and breathless from laughter. "Cut it out! If you fall over I'll get hurt too!"

"I won't hurt you," he says, his arm still secure around her waist, but he does stop when he starts to see spots. "Whoa. Okay, ride's over."

Clarke wriggles down, her body flush against his, and she's still out of breath and laughing when she steps back to rest her hands on her knees. "As much as I hate to admit it, that was fun."

Bellamy tries to smirk, but it turns into more of a grin and he can't help it. "Anytime, Princess."

* * *

When she is sixteen and he is eighteen, he gets a Quest.

The Oracle is awful and ugly and will probably appear in his nightmares for a fortnight, but he pushes the thought away impatiently while he pushes through crowds in Camp, trying to find her. To find Clarke.

Octavia gets to him first, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "Bell," She says, eyebrows knitted together. "What's going on? Has something happened?" He doesn't answer for a beat, unsure what to tell her, and she asks, "Where is Clarke?"

"I don't know. I'm looking for her." He juts his chin forward, indicating she should follow him, and she does.

Seeing the Blake siblings together is not a rare occurrence, but no one ever quite got over the novelty of Zeus having children- two! With the same woman!- and so they get numerous curious stares as they hurry across Camp. "I'm not seeing her. Are you?"

"There," Octavia says, lifting her arm to point. Bellamy looks where she's pointing and sees Clarke shooting arrows into a target pinned to a tree, her arm moving rapid fire, her face a mask of determination. She is made of steel.

Bellamy reaches her first and she lowers her bow, face surprised. "Hey, Bell. What's up?"

"I got a Quest," he says baldly, seeing Octavia go still in his peripheral vision. Clarke's face is a smooth mask, blank and pale, and he pushes on, anxious. "I need you to come with me. I need- I need you. I can't take anyone else."

Clarke's face is still drained but she nods once, no hesitation. "Of course. Anything you need."

"No," Octavia says, voice shaking, and both Clarke and Bellamy turn their attention to her. Her eyes are wide and she looks scared, like she did her first day at Camp, her eyes going between her brother and Clarke. "No. _No_."

"Octavia," Bellamy begins, but she holds up a hand, effectively stopping whatever he was going to say.

"You can't just _leave_ ," she says, her voice still quivering. "You can't just _go_. If you go, I go, too. You can't just leave!"

"Well, I am!" He replies, harsher than he means, and Clarke flinches back. "You're not coming. End of discussion."

Octavia screams after them but Bellamy does not turn back, just pulls Clarke along by the hand. She still has her bow and her sheath of arrows. _Good_. "Bellamy," she says softly, her voice distant. "Stop."

"Can't," He says stiffly, huffing in annoyance when she starts digging her heels into the ground. He turns around to face her, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What is it?"

Her expression says she's scared, her lip wedged halfway between her teeth. "I trust you. I trust you so much. I won't ask what the Oracle said, but whatever it was, it clearly freaked you out."

He scoffs, as if the idea is ridiculous and offensive, but she's right and they both know it. Clarke comes forward and knots her hands in the hem of his shirt, drawing him closer to her. "Hey," she says, looking up at him with a sharp, strong gaze. "Breathe, okay? We don't have to go now. The Quest will still stand tomorrow morning."

He nods, because she's right and he is exhausted and it's beyond pointless to argue with Clarke. They walk to his tent, Clarke's hand light against his back. and to Bellamy's surprise, she doesn't stop on the porch.

It's not forbidden for children to enter the cabin of a god who isn't their parent; it's just frowned upon. Clarke has been in and out of Zeus's cabin a handful of times, but it was always to grab a book or to pass through as a shortcut. This time, though, she doesn't leave after just a moment.

"Stop shaking," she whispers as she wipes dirt and ash from the bonfire from his face. He can't, though, and Clarke doesn't mind.

When he climbs into his bed, she disappears for a few minutes, long enough for him to get pulled into that half-asleep state. He can hear the soft pattering of her bare feet on the floorboards but doesn't open his eyes until the mattress dips slightly towards the edge of the bed, and then she is there, wearing his orange Camp Half-Blood shirt and a pair of his pajama bottoms rolled up so many times he's surprised they stay on at all.

"Hi," she whispers, her face scrubbed clean and her hair pulled away from her face. She is so beautiful. Bellamy wants to say so, but the words get caught in his throat. She moves close to him, into his space, small and yet so very present. She twists her fingers in his hair, stroking it in a way she knows he likes, and he lets his forehead fall against her shoulder. "Sleep," she whispers, and Bellamy does not need to be told again.

* * *

They set out early the next morning, squinting in the glow of the sunrise and stumbling slightly on tired feet. Jaha sends them off with a solemn nod and a reminder to lock the gate behind them.

"So," Clarke says as they wait at a bus stop that will take them into the city. "What exactly are we trying to do?"

The Oracle had told Bellamy that there were invaders coming for the demigods and their parents: Grounders, it had said, possibly belonging to Hades or Chaos. It had warned him that they were unlike anything he had faced before, and the last part of the prophecy told him the person he loved most wold die if he failed.

He relays the information about the Grounders to Clarke, leaving out the part about his loved one dying, and her face goes bloodless again. "Please don't back out," he begs her, eyes pleading. "Not now. I can't do this without you."

"Of course I'm not going to back out, idiot," she scowls, whacking him in the chest. "I'm just surprised, that's all. I've never read about anything like this."

"They're invading NYC, according the Oracle," he says, watching her worry her lip between her teeth. "We're not supposed to attack yet, just find their nest. Otherwise I would've brought more people along."

"What if they attack us first?" She asks, eyebrow raised.

He shrugs. "Well, they're not going to get away with it if they try anything."

"You're so hot-headed," she mutters, but he can see she's trying to fight a grin. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

He forces a smile, but his chest aches because it's the truth. The Oracle had said a lot of things to him.

 

Clarke has not spent nearly as much time in the human world as he has- yes, she attends school outside Camp, but that's a limited world- and so she has a harder time of seeing through the Mist. They pass a satyr and a cyclops, but when he mentions them, she cranes her neck around in a futile attempt to catch a glimpse.

So it's he who spots the Grounder first: too tall and bulky to really be human, its skin a pale greenish color, like snot. Its hair is lank and greasy, and its teeth are yellow and uneven, a scowl on its face as it thunders through the heavy crowd of New York.

He grabs Clarke's hand, willing her to stay calm, and she does. "Do you see it?"

She shakes her head, her mouth pressing into a thin, frustrated line. "No. Damn it; it shouldn't be this hard for me to- _oh_ ," she cuts off, her voice tinged with disgust, and Bellamy knows she's pushed aside the Mist. "That's- well. Shit."

Bellamy chuckles despite himself, and it's a nice way to ignore the tension for a blissful moment before Clarke is jutting her chin towards an alleyway and he lets her pull her through the throng of people. He knows she has her sheath of arrows and her bow hidden beneath her thick jacket, and he has various blades on his body, but still, this is his first Quest and the Oracle's words ring tauntingly in his ears.

_The girl with the sky in her eyes will fall._

Clarke's eyes are pale blue in the dark, damp alleyway, cloudless, and a pit opens in Bellamy's stomach. He watches as she shrugs off her jacket, tossing it carelessly on the ground, and turns her bright eyes to him. "Ready?"

When he doesn't answer right away, he can see the fear and anxiety tensing up her muscles and straightening her spine. "Come on, Bell. If we're going to do this, we need to do it _now_."

He nods once, shaking himself out of his momentary hesitation, and slips a dagger out of his boot. They lean around the corner of they alleyway, Clarke's back against his chest, and watch the Grounder blunder up to a deteriorating apartment complex. Clarke wrinkles her nose. "You know how many junkies are going to be in there?"

"Right, because junkies are our priority," Bellamy deadpans, nudging her with his hand until she darts forward into the crowd, heading for the Grounder. He prays to every god he can name that there's enough Mist around them to obscure their weapons, and mercifully, they make it to the complex without any civilians giving them frightened looks.

"Do we just..." Clarke trails off, eyes wide and frightened, standing with her bow at her side. "Should we just go in?"

"Yes," Bellamy replies, "but quietly."

She gives him a look before slipping inside, the only indicator of her entrance being a soft rush of air hitting Bellamy's face. It reeks, stale and old and smelling faintly of mildew. He follows her, keeping close like her shadow, and they creep along the walls. They can still hear the Grounder's thundering footsteps resonating through the floorboards and they follow, all the way up three flights of stairs. They pass a guy passed out on one flight, and Clarke clearly wants to stop to help, but Bellamy moves her along with a gentle push on her waist.

The Grounder stomps into a room at the far end of the fourth floor. It leaves the door hanging open and Clarke creeps close, too close for comfort, her fingers going loose on her bow as she cranes around to get a look inside. Bellamy steps towards her, his fingers reaching for her elbow. "Clarke-"

She is yanked inside with a small shriek of surprise, and Bellamy can see thick green fingers on her neck. She struggles, legs kicking, and Bellamy grabs one of her feet, pulling. The Grounder is even more hideous up close, jagged fangs bared in a twisted smile, legs as thick as tree trunks as it drags Clarke further inside the apartment.

" _No_ ," Bellamy snarls, kicking the door further open when the Grounder tries to shut it. Clarke bites down on the Grounder's arm hard enough that Bellamy sees blood dribble down and the creature howls, releasing Clarke in favor of stumbling back in pain. Clarke lurches forward, sputtering, rubbing her bruised neck. She catches Bellamy's eye. He's caught between attacking the Grounder and helping her, but she motions forward. "Go," she croaks, eyes wide. "I'm okay."

He does as told, shoving his knife in the Grounder's chest like he's done hundreds of times on dummies: perfect upward angle, dodging the ribs and searing right through the heart.

It doesn't feel as good as he'd thought it would.

As the Grounder staggers, the hilt of Bellamy's knife protruding from its chest, it rips off a long piece of pipe from the piping along the ceiling. Bellamy watches in a haze, still riding the high of the fight, as the creature swings the pipe around its head.

"No!"

Clarke is there, shoving Bellamy aside, and the pipe connects with the back of her head with a sickening smack. Drained, the Grounder collapses, the floor shaking as it does so. Bellamy stumbles over to Clarke, dropping to his knees next to her. It's like the world has come to an end or has been thrown out of orbit. Her hair is already matted with blood and she moves frightened eyes to him when he touches her cheek. "Bell."

"I know," he says, swallowing past a lump in his throat. He strips off his jacket quickly, pressing it to her wound. She winces but doesn't tell him to stop: she knows that applying pressure to it is the only chance of saving her.

"Seeing stars yet, Princess?" Bellamy asks, trying to keep his voice light and carefree, but even he can hear the strain that's evident there.

Clarke laughs, a spluttering sound because of the blood draining into her throat, and clutches blindly at the hand that rests on her shoulder. "I always do when I'm around you."

He keeps pressing the fabric to her wound, her words making a searing warmth burst in his chest. "Jaha's on his way. He'll have ambrosia."

"Okay," Clarke says, eyes unwavering. "Bell."

"What is it?"

When she inhales it makes an awful rattling sound in her throat, like she's breathing through a shaky tube. "I- I'm going to join the Hunt."

He feels like she's slapped him, and then right away feels bad for reacting so badly. She has every right to do what she chooses with her life. But still. "You are?"

"Yeah." She lifts a shaky hand to wipe away blood that's leaking from her mouth. "With Raven. I didn't know how to tell you."

Almost subconsciously, he smoothes her hair back from her face, gently wiping the damp sweat from her forehead. "I'm- good for you. You've come really far. And now you don't have to be around any annoying boys, right?"

Right away, he knows it's a mistake. He can tell his bitterness is in his tone; he can tell the way he's loved her for years is plain on his face. He looks away from her, his face burning, hearing her rattling breaths in the background. She clutches at his hand again and he lets her take it, but he keeps his gaze trained on the floor.

"I didn't mean you, idiot," she laughs breathlessly, making his gaze snap back to her. Her cheeks are flushed, a pretty shade of pink, the same shade they had been when she had returned to Camp from school and climbed up onto his back. "Gods, Bellamy. Are you that blind?"

She props herself up onto her elbows, brushing off his weak protests with an impatient wave of her hands. "I've wanted to kiss you for years. I dropped hints a lot, but I guess you didn't notice." She gives a wry smile at the shocked look on his face. "Bell, I just didn't know what to do. We've been friends for as long as I can remember, and I didn't want anything to be weird, and I didn't want to misread anything. But I..." She exhales, running her fingers through her tangled, bloody hair. "Do you know how hard it was to keep things strictly platonic when we were sparring?"

His face burns red at that, because yes, he does know, actually. Her eyes have gone all dreamy and dazed and she fidgets almost restlessly. "I'd kiss you right now, but I don't want our first kiss to taste like blood, so I'll wait."

He cradles her head in his lap, smiling down at her, his heart pumping like a racehorse. "I've been in love with you since I was sixteen, Clarke." He watches, amused, as her expression lights up. "Do you even realize how much time we've wasted?"

Clarke bites her lip and they both know she's doing it for show: her lips keep trying to tug up in a smile. "So many chances for kissing."

He bends lower, grinning softly against her hairline. "Amongst other things."

Footsteps thunder towards them, several sets, and Bellamy realizes it must be Jaha and others. Before they get to the doorway, he kisses her jaw lightly, gently pulling her earlobe between his teeth. She goes electric against him, arching up and gasping. " _Oh_."

"Bellamy! Clarke!" Jaha hurries over to where the two sit, now a respectable distance between them. Bellamy tries not to laugh at Clarke's forlorn expression, her pupils blown wide as she gazes at him. Jaha administers ambrosia and two other senior Campers get to work fixing her head.

_The girl with the sky in her eyes will fall, and she will hang the stars in the sky._

* * *

Clarke becomes an excellent huntress. She can shoot her arrows quicker than most people can blink, which kind of freaks Bellamy out, but if he's being honest, it kind of turns him on, too.

They're making out in his bed before she goes to sign up officially. Artemis and her ladies have been at Camp for a few days now, and Raven's already signed up. Bellamy suspects Clarke's been putting it off to make up for lost time.

She rolls them over so she's on top of him, so warm against his body, kissing a messy line down his neck. She laughs when he moans, throwing his head back. One of the many things he's learned about her since they got together is that she laughs all the time, not because she's making fun of him, but because she's happy and it bubbles over. She laughs when he moans. She laughs when she can feel how turned on he his. She even laughs when his head's between her legs, his fingers creating ticklish patterns up her sides. One time she even laughed when he thrusted into her hard enough that they both toppled halfway off the bed. (But to be fair, he had laughed, too.)

She's flushed pink from her cheeks all the way to her breasts, her flesh covered in goosebumps. It's not too cold inside, but they'd accidentally knocked all his blankets off and hadn't been bothered to pick them back up. She kisses behind his ear as he undoes his jeans, her breath hot and sexy, only pausing to shift and tug her panties off. (They're black lace, which. Holy. _Shit_.)

She sinks down onto him with a soft moan of her own, her head thrown back, gloriously exposing her neck and the slope of her breasts. He loves the way she feels around him, so hot and smooth. When she starts to slowly ride him, her chest presses flush against his, and he has to bite back an embarrassing amount of noise. Her hips move against him in a way that makes him want to fuck her senseless, but she likes to be in control when she's on top, and he has no problems with that.

Her mouth ends up back against his jaw, her hips still working him slowly and deliberately. He can hear the hitch in her breath every time she pushes back down onto him, and she whimpers when he starts to draw nonsense on her back, earning a sharp roll of her hips that make him groan in surprise.

"No fair," she pants against his ear, settling back into her original, slow pace. Bellamy groans again, but this time it's because he's frustrated, and she laughs. He smirks, developing a scheme, and wriggles his hand between them. He finds her clit and rubs it with his fingers, feeling how wonderfully wet she is.

Clarke cries out in surprise, her hips stuttering at the new contact, and she has to pause to breathe and pull herself back under control. After what feels like ages, she sits up on her knees, making him whine at the loss of contact. But then she opens her eyes again and says, "Okay, fine, you win."

He looks at her, unsure, until she makes an impatient noise and bites down hard on her lip. "Bellamy, _please_."

He fucks up into her, the muscles in his neck and shoulders going taut, and Clarke moans in a way that should be sinful, falling forward against him. She slides against his chest as he fucks into her, her hair tickling his skin, and she bites down onto his shoulder. She starts moving her hips back, meeting his thrusts with her own, and Bellamy can feel that they're both so _close_ , and then Clarke is gasping, her head thrown back. She comes with his name falling from her lips, and the way she says it as a moan makes him come too, his hips pushing hard against her.

She sucks a bite into his neck as he comes down from his high, laughing breathlessly. "Think your dad's going to look down on me for this?"

Bellamy laughs, sated and content, moving his hand to her hair. "If you get struck by a lightening bolt, I guess we'll have our answer."

Clarke props herself up with her elbows on his chest, a small frown on her bitten lips. "I'll be back before you know it, you know."

He feels his expression go soft. He just can't help getting that annoying puppy look when he's around her. "I know."

"Thank you for understanding that I need to do this."

"Of course," he replies, slipping out from underneath her so he can curve himself against her back. He presses a kiss to her temple, and suddenly the moment is more intimate than before. "I love you."

He likes the way she gets this dopey grin on her face when he says it, and how she ducks her head to try and hide it. "I love you too. So much."

Bellamy hums against her hair, thinking he'll miss this while she's gone, but it's true what she said: she really will be back before he knows it. She wants to hone her archery skills and protect a goddess, and he's so proud of her it's almost ridiculous. She hangs the moon. Quite literally.

He says this to her and she laughs so hard she rolls right off his bed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is super random but while i was writing the scene of them sleeping in bed i was listening to possibility by lykke li and let me tell you, that is their song.  
> for the sake of preventing a creepy age gap, artemis's hunters can age while they're with her.


End file.
